


To Fix Something Not Broken

by bitch_I_might_be



Series: Thin Ice 'Verse [9]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alex is in this only at the end as usual, Alexander Hamilton is George Washington's Biological Son, Angst, Drunk John Laurens, George Washington is a Dad, Henry Laurens' A+ Parenting, Hurt/Comfort, I have decided Henry Laurens is a bitch in this universe, Internalized Homophobia, John is a rambly drunk, John really wants to marry Alex and is sad about it, John talks about his daddy issues with the man who made him realise fathers can be Good actually, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Sad John Laurens, This is basically He Who is Without Sin 2: electric boogaloo, Washington is a lil soft for John it's really cute, Washington is literally like 'if Henry won't parent this boy I WILL', a sad gay rambly drunk, kind of like Washington does his best ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:20:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28730343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitch_I_might_be/pseuds/bitch_I_might_be
Summary: During a sleepless night, Washington stumbles upon a very upset and more than a little drunk John Laurens, and just cannot bring himself to leave the boy on his own.So, he stays and he listens–and he learns things about the boy's inner workings he never wanted to know.Take that and put a very odd proposal on top, and Washington might just exhaust himself enough to find sleep after all.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton & George Washington, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, John Laurens & George Washington
Series: Thin Ice 'Verse [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2004361
Comments: 28
Kudos: 101





	To Fix Something Not Broken

**Author's Note:**

> Can y'all tell that I missed writing John and Washington after Behind Enemy Lines and Blood and Water? Because I fucking did, lol.  
> Let it be known that John Laurens is a fucking hypocrite, like that boy always makes Alex talk about ALL his emotions and the instant he feels one himself he fucks off to get drunk somewhere and cry about his problems alone. I mean, same, but get a fucking grip, Laurens.

It was the early hours of the morning, and that was what made Washington so certain he was the only person awake in the house they currently stayed in.

His aides were hard at work for most of the day, many of them from the break of dawn to nightfall, so they were exhausted more often than not and needed every scrap of sleep they could get.

Washington, well–he was tired, if he was being honest. Of course he was, he would like to think he worked just as hard as his aides; he wouldn’t leave all the correspondence for his boys to take care of, what kind of commander would he be if he just sat back and let them do everything?

Unfortunately, sleep hadn’t been something that came easy to him in several years, and so he found himself wandering the halls in the dead of night, exhausted but restless.

The corridors were unlit, of course, the only light that of the crescent moon that filtered in through the lone window at the end of the hallway–or it should be. Washington’s gaze caught on the slim line of golden light that crept out from underneath a door, and he stood, thinking. The door led to their makeshift office. It should be abandoned at this hour.

The only person on his staff stubborn enough to work into the new day was his son, but Alexander had retired for the night. Washington knew because he had been the one to chase him out several hours ago.

He frowned to himself and pushed the door open, a chiding ready on his tongue about how important sleep was to everyone, and especially soldiers, but it died behind his teeth as he took the scene in.

It was none other than John Laurens who sat at the long table that dominated the room, the fire had been left to burn down to glowing embers, and the only source of light was a bright oil-lamp an arm’s reach away from the boy. 

At first glance Washington assumed John was honest to God still working, but when he looked closer, it became clear that was not what was happening here.

For one, the parchment that lay before him was not written in his own hand. Then, there was the mostly empty bottle of wine next to him, and Washington pursed his lips in distaste. Affinity to drink had never charmed him.

His next assumption was that John had received a letter and had for some reason seen it fit to lose himself in the wine, which would explain his odd posture–he sat slumped, with his face buried in his hands. Washington could recall the way the world would start to spin after too much drink, and he was no stranger to that position.

That theory, while plausible, called for further adjustment the next moment. John made a shuddering, wounded sound, and his shoulders shook with it, and oh Christ, the boy was crying.

As much as he wanted to turn around and pretend he had never stumbled upon this pitiful display, he couldn’t bring himself to actually do it. He was a father before he was a soldier, and the boy was- what was he to him? Well, Alexander loved him, and that was good enough.

He closed the door behind himself with a sigh, startling John into awareness. The boy looked like he wanted to yell, to fight and deny his tears as they dried on his cheeks, but then recognition sparked in his dulled eyes, and his shoulders relaxed.

“What’s wrong, son?” Washington said and sat down in the seat opposite him. He was under no illusion that he would get any more sleep for the night, so he might as well settle in for a lengthier conversation.

John sniffled and wiped at his tears, averted his gaze with cheeks reddened by alcohol and shame.

“I’m sorry, Sir-”

“You can apologise to me later, when you are sober enough to mean it. What’s _wrong,_ John?”

He looked down at the parchment in front of him, a frown like it had done something to offend him on his face. 

"Just… a letter from my father," he said. He sounded stuffy and rough, and he looked smaller than Washington had ever seen him–how old was the boy, anyway? Twenty-two, twenty-three? He couldn't be any older than that. Sometimes he needed to remind himself that John may in theory be a fully grown man, but he hadn’t been for all that long yet.

"Bad news from the homefront?" he asked, just because he couldn't imagine what else would make him upset enough to work himself into such a state.

John let out a humorless chuckle, one that bordered on bitter and ended in a wet noise like a sob. Washington didn't like the sound.

"He wants me to marry some woman," he spat, but the anger was lost in the hitch of his breath.

Washington raised his brows and said nothing for a moment. That… had not been what he had expected this to be about.

John didn't seem to mind his silence, though, as he went on without his prompting.

"And not just like 'I want you to think about marriage', he wrote the letter only to inform me that he'd picked a goddamn girl out." Another few tears fell from his lashes, and he scrubbed them away without care. His hand slammed down on top of the letter and crumpled it up, tossed it into the dying embers of the fireplace with a scowl and watched it catch and go up in flames. 

"I've never looked at any woman twice," he pressed out, mouth curling in frustration. "And he knows. He fucking knows- I won't do it, I can't, he can disown me for all I care-"

"Take a deep breath, my boy," Washington interrupted, low and calm, because John’s blood ran hot with upset and alcohol, and he could see where this was going.

John did as instructed, probably because he didn't take it as the suggestion it was, but an order; after just two slow breaths, he gasped for air, shallow and raspy and not enough, until he was full on sobbing.

Oh, Lord.

“John-”

“I just don’t _understand,_ ” he said at the same time as Washington spoke, but it wasn’t like he had any idea what to say, so he clamped his mouth shut and let him talk.

“I’ve never been- not _once,_ not once did I show interest, and he knows, he knows I don’t- does he think a wife would cure me?”

John snapped his head up and fixed him with a stare too intense for the state he was in, his eyes huge and red, watery and unfocused and desperate. 

“You need to calm down, son,” Washington said. There was nothing he wanted to say to what had just tumbled out of the boy’s mouth. He was not even close to qualified to utter a word about any of it; he didn’t understand the struggles of people like John or Alex, he had never once looked at another man with something that even resembled interest.

John blinked at him and drew in a shuddering breath. An odd sound rattled his chest, his lips trembled, and Washington had a sudden epiphany that he wasn’t the one the boy should be having this conversation with. Alexander was far better equipped to handle anything concerning this matter.

“Would a wife fix me, Sir?” he asked, and he looked him straight in the eyes, so Washington couldn’t pretend it was just another thing John yelled into the void.

He hesitated before he voiced an answer; he wasn’t sure if _fix_ was the right word to use here. John wasn’t broken, he was whole in a different way.

“Would you want to be fixed?” he said, and John tucked his chin against his chest and cried quietly.

“No,” he said. “No, I- I love Alex. I love him so much. I’d never want to be without him, Sir, I swear, he’s- he’s my whole world.”

“There you have it,” Washington replied and offered a small smile. Good God, he had no idea what he was doing, and something in his chest clenched at the thought of saying the wrong thing and making it worse.

He couldn’t just let the poor boy sit there in his heartache, though. There had to be something he could do to make this better, even if he didn’t understand what John was going through.

“John,” he said and waited until the boy had raised his head and met his eye. He was crying so hard, Washington thought, and he had already had a lot of wine–he would have to force some water into him once they were done here. 

“I don’t think there’s anything… wrong with you. A wife wouldn’t fix you because there is nothing there to fix, my boy. You are a good man and a good soldier, and as long as you treat my son with love and respect, I…” He took a moment to think what he wanted to say over. _Fine_ was not the word. Or maybe it was. He was not fine with their relationship, though–he would be if it didn’t put both of them in danger, but- well, Washington had to admit, if it was any other man, anyone not his boy, he wouldn’t have thought twice about it. It was the fact it risked his son's life that didn’t sit right with him.

“I don’t mind it, John. I don’t mind people like you. You exist, you are a human just as I am, and you have the right to find happiness with someone you love.”

John stared at him, hard enough he forgot to keep crying. He sniffled, pulled his sleeves down over his hands and wiped his face with them, and Washington ached. It reminded him so much of when his children had been younger, how they had looked like when they woke from a nightmare, and he had a sudden unrelated thought about if John had ever gone to find Henry Laurens in the middle of the night. He had met the man only a handful of times, but somehow he couldn’t imagine he would have responded kindly to that.

The boy mumbled something Washington couldn’t make out as he lowered his hands back into his lap. His eyes were puffy and his cheeks splotchy, and in a sudden moment of clarity Washington wondered how the fuck he had ended up there.

“What was that?”

John looked back up and cleared his throat, but his eyes flickered away from his, and he peered just past him when he spoke. “Why can’t he be like you?”

Oh.

“If you had a proper talk with him about it, maybe-”

John scoffed and returned to looking at the table in front of him. “Sir. That man barely tolerates me to begin with, and I can assure you, if I were to sit him down and explain to him I can't marry that woman because I’m a sodomite, he would kick my ass out to the curb and forget about me as fast as he humanly could.”

He sniffled, and his lower lip started to quiver–oh Lord, he would start crying again, wouldn’t he?

“It’s just not fair,” he said, and his voice was dangerously small, weak with the promise of tears. “I tried so hard. I tried to make him love me, Sir, I _tried,_ but I’m- I’m not good enough.”

This new topic was even further out of Washington competencies than the last one. He couldn’t handle this, there was nothing he could say to make it better, nothing he could do–the boy wasn’t his, and he was his employee, so he didn’t feel comfortable attempting to comfort him like he would Alex.

Now that he thought about it, the whole situation was nothing but inappropriate. He was John’s superior. He shouldn't have stayed, he should have given him a stern talking-to about his sleep and the drink, and left.

John covered his mouth with one hand and stifled a broken sob. While Washington should have left when he still had the chance, he couldn't just leave him like that now. The boy was a mess.

It couldn't be too difficult to get him back to the room he shared with Alex, could it? Alexander could take care of his fool, that was what he wanted, after all.

Washington was about to relay that plan to John when he spoke again, his breaths loud and disruptive as though he couldn't get enough air.

"Ever since James died- he's hated me, Sir, he thinks it was my fault but- but it wasn't, I swear, I couldn't _do_ anything-"

Washington furrowed his brows and rounded the table, came to stand at John's side. He still very much intended to get him back to his room, but something told him he wouldn't get too far with that endeavour if he kept silent.

It was the way John looked up at him, probably, sad and defeated and like a goddamn kicked puppy.

"Who's James, son?" he asked, deciding to indulge him as he set his plan into motion, and swept his gaze over the boy, tried to evaluate how much physical work he would have to put into getting him to stand and walk.

John sniffled, wrapped his arms around himself, and shrunk back into his seat. "My brother. He was ten. Liked climbing things." His eyes drifted shut and forced a fresh wave of tears down his cheeks. "He fell. Died of a head-injury."

"I'm sorry, John," he said and squeezed his shoulder softly. Washington knew what it was like to lose a brother, even if Lawrence had died a grown man; but he was also the father of a dead child, and he was intimately aware of how fiercely and completely that kind of grief could wreck a man.

"But I'm sure it wasn't your fault. If your father insinuated it was, it was probably said in mourning." He slipped his hand off his shoulder and circled his fingers around the boy's wrist instead, crouched down to his level, and guided his arm up around his shoulder.

"Up," he commanded and snaked the arm that wasn't holding on to John's around the boy's waist. John did rise when he stood–with the distinctive bearing and grace of a sack of potatoes, just letting himself be pulled along–but didn't seem overly interested in moving his own limbs.

His tears still hadn’t stopped, and Washington bit back a small sigh.

He was reluctant to admit it even to himself, but he had come to care for that boy; his quick wit and stupid jokes, his unshakable loyalty, and even the recklessness and outbursts–passionate or violent–had grown on him. To see him like that, so lost and unhappy, drinking and crying on his own, away from Alexander, even, it… saddened him.

"I'm sorry, Sir," he said, eyes on the floor as Washington maneuvered them around the deserted chair. "You weren't supposed to see me like this. No one was."

He hiccuped, but Washington couldn't tell if it was because of his sobs or the alcohol, and raised his hand to scrub it over his face anew.

Washington didn't answer for a moment, not because he wasn't going to, but because he had to focus on getting the boy through the narrow space between the edge of the table and the wall unharmed; John, uninvolved as he was in the process, took that as an invitation to keep talking.

"I just- letters from my father are never a good thing. We don't really write to each other. And this- this was something I'd been thinking about, and it just- it rubbed salt into the wound. I shouldn't have been this upset, I wouldn't have been, usually, but- yeah."

Washington sighed and dragged the boy towards the door. "It's only natural you would be upset. Marriage is a highly personal thing, and even if… well, if it was a woman you wanted, having the decision made for you takes away all your agency."

He stopped in front of the door, released John's wrist only for how long it took for him to open it, and grabbed a hold of it again.

Once they were through, he repeated the process to close the door. As they stood there, as Washington waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark before he attempted to wrangle an unusually pliant John Laurens down the corridor, something the boy had rambled out registered with him.

"You've been thinking about marriage?" he said, and John heaved a wistful sigh and dropped more of his weight against him. _Christ,_ he was heavy when he really put his mind to it.

"I wish I could marry Alex," he said. Washington couldn't see much of his face in the mellow light, but he could make out the curve of a smile–finally, a smile. A sad one, but it was better than the tears.

"He's so smart, and passionate, and strong, and really, really pretty." Another sigh. Washington suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and put them into motion instead.

 _Really, really pretty._ Was that what had endeared his son to him? Maybe he would have to have another talk with Alexander about his dubious taste in men.

They had only taken a few steps when John suddenly sprung to life, dug his heels in, and refused to move another inch.

Washington took a deep breath. So the boy _could_ move just fine. Good to know.

"John-" he began, the beginnings of annoyance creeping into the word despite his best efforts, but John interrupted before he could get anything else out.

"Would you give us your blessing?" he asked, an urgency to his voice Washington hadn’t expected from him in his overall dazed state.

A beat of silence. "Pardon?" he said, just because the question had caught him so off guard. His blessing? What did his blessing matter when the mere concept of a marriage between two men would be labelled blasphemous?

"Would you give us your blessing?" he repeated, slower this time, as though he thought his ability to hear the problem, not the absurd nature of his question. Washington tried not to be too offended, but Christ, he wasn't quite _that_ old yet. "If I asked you for Alexander's hand, would you say yes?"

Well, that hadn't been something he thought he would ever have to consider.

"You would ask me first?"

"Of course!" he said, affronted.

He opened his mouth, closed it, and tried to take another step in the hope it would distract him–to no avail. John wouldn't budge, neither on the topic nor physically.

This incredibly hypothetical line of questioning seemed of the utmost importance to him. If the only way to get him to move was to give him an answer, well- fuck it.

"Provided that's what he wanted, yes. You would have my blessing."

He again attempted to tug John down the corridor with him, with more success that time.

A moment passed in which neither of them said anything, but the short silence was shattered by a sniffle and a choked sound–was the boy crying? _Again_?

He quickened his pace a little, suddenly enthralled by the thought of just dumping John on Alexander and calling it a night.

"Thank you, Sir," he said, and Washington faltered. "You're always so- so nice to me, even though you don't have to and you don't really like me, but- I promise I'll take good care of him. I know we can't marry, but if we could- if we _could,_ Sir, I would be the best husband to him, I swear."

Washington swallowed and turned his face away from John to frown at the wall instead, not that the boy would see much of his expression in the dark, and had the decency to feel bad about just having looked forward to getting rid of him. He was a good lad, and he'd had a hard night.

"Do you really think I don't like you?" he said, deliberate in not commenting on the rest of that little speech. He couldn't. Because, well, he tried not to think about it too often, but John and Alex–they really didn't have a future. Not in a way they wanted. Two unmarried men living together for years, that wouldn't go over well.

They would have to cross that bridge when they came to it; Washington would be there, if they wanted him to be.

A laugh rumbled in John's chest and vibrated into Washington's side where the boy leaned against him, an odd juxtaposition to the tears he saw glinting in the moonlight when he turned to look.

"You do threaten me with everything from severe bodily harm to death a lot, Sir."

Ah. Yeah, he had him there.

"That doesn't mean I don't like you. I just enjoy keeping you on your toes, my boy," he said.

"Oh," he breathed. They were almost at the end of the hallway now; Washington didn't think he had ever been so keenly aware of the too slow crawl of time as he was at that moment. "So you wouldn't mind having me as a son-in-law?"

Washington sighed. They were on the last couple of steps now. "No, son," he said and conjured up a small smile, even though John probably couldn't even see it, and gave a gentle squeeze to his waist. "I wouldn't mind. I think I might even go so far as to say I would like that."

He sure hoped John wouldn't let that get to his head, or he would be truly insufferable for at least a few weeks, and Washington would have to act extra through with his antics to reestablish the status quo, which just sounded like a lot of work, frankly.

They arrived in front of the right door, finally, after Washington had dragged his son’s drunk idiot along for what felt like miles, and he didn’t give him a chance to say anything else to his momentary slip of good judgement, just pounded his fist to the door hard enough it probably woke the occupants of the next room, too.

There was movement from inside, a yellow line of light appeared through the gap under the door, and it was jerked open–Alexander glared for just a second, and the disgruntled expression melted from his features as he looked from him to John.

“Have you lost something?” Washington said and ducked, so he could lower John’s arm from his shoulders and back down to the boy’s side. He didn’t let go of him yet, though; that small shift in balance alone had him swaying on the spot.

“What happened?” he asked as he stepped closer, a prominent worry-line between his furrowed brows, and pulled a grimace as he caught a whiff of the alcohol-odour that hung around John like fog. Alex raised both his hands to John’s face and put them to his cheeks, wiping at tears with his thumbs and watching him from concerned dark eyes. “What’s wrong, my love?”

John sniffled and covered one of the hands on his face with his own, turned his head and put a kiss to that palm. Washington would really rather not have to stand there and watch this.

“It’s nothing, darling,” he said and flashed a small smile.

Oh, he had to be fucking kidding him.

“No,” he said, and both John and Alex turned to frown at him. “No, you do not get to do this, Laurens.” He tightened his grip he still had on John’s waist and used it to haul him further into the room. Alex stepped aside and closed the door behind them, then stood and watched as Washington dumped John on the bed–well, one of the beds, but he was not naive enough to think they used the second one.

The boy sat and steadied himself with his hands to his sides, staring up at him with big, confused eyes, still red and swollen from all the crying he had done.

“You don’t get to unload all of that on me, make me half-carry you back to your room, beg me for Alexander’s hand in marriage on the way and promise you’ll be a good husband to my son, and then turn around and _lie to his face._ ”

John blinked and opened his mouth to respond, but Washington wasn’t taking any chances and cut him off before he could say anything.

“You tell him, Laurens,” he said, infusing the words with an order, and John straightened where he sat–an unconscious reaction, most likely, but one that told him he wasn’t too far gone, after all.

“I’m sorry, _what_ happened?” Alexander said and came to stand next to him, his eyes flitting between him and John, bewildered. “Did- I mean, did you say yes? Are we… engaged, in theory? God, I leave you alone for thirty minutes-”

“It was more of a hypothetical-” Washington began, at the same time John said,

“Yes.”

They looked at each other. Washington rubbed at his brow and heaved a sigh at the exact moment Alex did. He felt very tired all of a sudden.

He turned to his son, because frankly, he had seen enough of John’s face for the night. “Don’t let him tell you it was nothing. You see the state he’s in, and I don’t think I was adequate in my handling of it.” He gave John a last sharp look to drive home he would be better off not lying to his boy ever again, and reached out to Alex, ruffled a hand through his hair and smiled at him before he turned to leave.

Alex stopped him with a hand on his forearm. “Pa,” he said, sincere and soft and warm in a way that made Washington think of Martha. “Thank you for looking out for him. Really. He always does that, struggling through alone and pretending he’s fine–I’m glad he wasn’t all on his own this time.”

“Of course, dearheart,” he said, a low rumble. “Take care of him.”

Alexander grinned at him, but the worry didn’t leave his eyes. “Yes, Sir,” he said and glanced back at John, who sat and watched them, both his face and eyes finally dry. “Although I can’t believe you promised him my hand in marriage without asking me first.”

Washington sighed and just gave in to the urge to roll his eyes. What did it matter now, anyway. “I felt _bad,_ and it’s not like that means anything.”

“Well, I will refer to John exclusively as your future son-in-law now, just so you know,” he said, and that even got a chuckle out of John.

He groaned. “Great. I get it, you won’t let me forget my lapse in judgement anytime soon. Well, I’m going to bed, give me a few hours before I have to face that reality.”

His son’s impish grin softened into an honest smile. “Good night, Papa.”

He returned the smile and made for the door. “Good night, boys.”

As he stepped outside into the dark corridor and turned to pull the door closed behind him, Washington caught a last glimpse of John and Alex, how they were on their own when he wasn’t around–John’s hands on his boy’s body were gentle, almost devotional as he pulled him down into his lap. Alex went along smoothly and settled as though he had done it a hundred times before, like it was where he belonged, and wrapped his arms around John’s shoulders, pressing kisses to his hair as the boy hid his face in his chest.

The door closed, and he was back in darkness.

Son-in-law. With his only daughter gone, he wouldn’t have thought he would ever have one of those.

Well, at least he would have something else to call John except _his son’s idiot._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I'm also on [Tumblr](http://binch-i-might-be.tumblr.com) btw :)


End file.
